Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train Page 7

  “What are your standards for a husband?” He wondered if he met any of them.

  “Hard-working. Honest.”

  He met those two. Mostly.

  She put the other bowls into the cupboard, and then came after the beans. Before she took away the pot, he dipped out another spoonful. She ought to know he’d be starved after working all morning. Maybe she was worried about rations.

  “And temperate,” she added, setting the Dutch oven on the hearth. “That’s a must. I stay away from men who indulge in strong drink.”

  The rock that hit the bottom of Arch’s stomach wasn’t made from bread. It was a fair bet she would stay far away from a man who made his living from selling moonshine.

  How long could he hide the truth from her?

  Not long enough.

  He dipped a piece of bread into his bowl to sop up the liquid, as he mulled over how to present his family’s business in a good light. “Whiskey isn’t bad…”

  “It is when a man loves it so much he ignores his responsibilities and abandons his…the people who depend on him.”

  Arch stopped with the bread halfway to his mouth. Her halting correction made it clear she wasn’t talking in general terms. “Who did that to you?”

  “Someone who doesn’t matter anymore.” She stepped back from the table. The way she kept wringing her hands and glancing at the door made him wonder if she planned to sprint away.

  “Why are you so nervous? I’ll won’t bite, I promise. Now tell me about the fellow that don’t matter anymore.”

  She stopped twisting her fingers and held still. He tried to read her expression: pain, confusion, maybe regret. “We were to be married. At our wedding, after I’d waited for over an hour for him to show up, I found him drunk and passed out in the barn. He tried to apologize and explain, but… Looking back, I should’ve seen it coming. He carried a flask with him at all times. I consider myself lucky to have escaped.”

  “You’re right. You were lucky.” Arch longed to pound whoever had hurt her into the dirt.

  “He sounds like a weak man, not someone worthy of you.”

  “If I’d listened to my father, I might’ve avoided humiliation. He warned against ills of liquor and how it can lead to disgrace and dishonor.”

  Sounded like her strait-laced pa had put the fear of God into her when it came to sex and drinking, two things most men enjoyed.

  “That fellow was a bad apple, I’ll give you that. But not everyone who drinks turns into a debased drunkard,” Arch retorted.

  Her pointed look said otherwise. Trying to convince her he wasn’t the devil incarnate would take some doing.

  He put the soggy bread into his mouth.

  Ugh. Tasted awful. Without letting on, he set it on the edge of the plate and tried a spoonful of beans. His throat closed up. Oh God. Worse. He forced down what was in his mouth, rather than spitting it onto the plate.

  Pru set a cup in front of him. “Here, have some water.”

  He downed the cool liquid in three gulps. That helped, though it didn’t completely wash away the horrid taste.

  She rubbed her hands together anxiously. “You don’t like it?”

  “It…” He had to be honest because she knew something was wrong and if he fibbed about this, she would assume he’d lie about more important things. “Tastes bitter.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I did wash the beans with soap before I cooked them. Maybe I didn’t rinse them well enough.”

  Astonished, he set down the spoon. “You used soap?”

  She nodded.

  “No wonder it tastes so vile.” He rubbed his forehead, as his fond dreams about delicious meals flew out the window. His future wife couldn’t make bread and she didn’t know the most basic thing about cooking beans. God bless her for trying. “You don’t use soap to clean beans. Rinse them in water.”

  “Oh.” She cast a sad look at his plate, went from rubbing her hands to wringing them and looking so distressed that he felt bad for being honest. “I-I’m sure you must think I’m worthless.”

  Chapter 5

  “Worthless?” Arch exclaimed “Because of beans?”

  Prudence reached for his bowl and pulled the foul slop away. This time he didn’t try to stop her. He’d worked hard all morning and had to be starving and she had denied him sustenance. He’d been kind, protective. She’d deliberately set out to give him a stomachache.

  She couldn’t deny the passion and attraction that sparked between them, even if she didn’t know what to make of it. On the other hand, he ought to be more than ready to get rid of her, so she shouldn’t be eaten up with regret.

  He stood and came around the table, frowning so fiercely she wondered if he might strike her. She resisted cringing and looked him in the eye.

  “I’m sorry, Arch. You deserve better.”

  He grasped her arm and dragged her to him, astonishingly, embraced her. “Aw, Pru, how do you reckon a spoilt meal makes you worthless? There’s nothing further from the truth. The worthless cur is that man who made you doubt yourself.”

  Stunned, then lightheaded with relief, she clung to him. The only men who’d ever stood up for her were those in her immediate family. Even then, her father and brother had let her believe she was lacking in some way.

  She turned her face into Arch’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, primitive and purely male. Her hold on him tightened and excitement ignited the now-familiar warmth. “You aren’t angry with me?”

  “Heck no…” He caressed the back of her head, fondling the length of her plaited hair, his touch possessive, yet at the same time, gentle.

  Something inside her chest shifted. Her heart felt lighter. Softer.

  He cupped her cheek in a calloused palm. Warm, slightly rough, his touch sent her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, beneath her wrists and behind her knees. As he bent his head, her legs grew as weak as her willpower.

  “I’m not hungry for beans, anyhow,” he murmured, an instant before his mouth covered hers. He proved his point by feasting on her lips.

  How amazing. She’d rebuffed him at every turn, even laced his food with lye soap, and still he wanted her.

  An emotional thunderstorm gathered force. The power of desire ripped away propriety as a strong wind might tear the roof from a house. Heart pounding, she grasped at the hard muscles on his broad back.

  With his hands, he shaped her ribcage and waist and then moved downward over her hips. He deepened the kiss, putting his tongue in her mouth as he had before. She welcomed the intimate invasion and even slanted her head to provide a better angle. Desire fueled boldness. She brought her hands around to his chest to explore the hard muscles beneath the soft shirt.

  He responded with a rumbling sound, somewhere between a purr and a growl, and drew her up against him, so close she could feel the changes in his body wrought by passion.

  The warm flickers of desire flared into a blaze, its flames heating her from the inside out. She longed to throw off her clothes and drag him into bed. An audacious thought, but not the first time she’d entertained the illicit impulse.

  Flee from temptation.

  Passion’s roaring winds nearly drowned out the small voice. Her soul would be in peril should she ignore the warning. Somehow, she found the strength to end the kiss.

  Arch gazed down at her with stark hunger darkening his eyes. His features looked sharper and his skin, flushed. His face and body revealed the effects of strong passions. Passions she had inspired. If she had a smidgen of decency, she would be offended. Instead, she exulted in her newly discovered feminine power.

  Nevertheless, she hadn’t completely lost her mind or her fragile hold on self-respect.

  “R-release me,” she stammered.

  The moment he relaxed his grip, she took a step backwards, needing to get away so she wouldn’t give in to the urge to reach for him again. Women who were seduced and led astray became enslaved to sinful cravings. Fallen angels, her father had called them.
They usually ended up in brothels.

  “You promised you wouldn’t touch me.” She had to hold him to his word because she didn’t have the strength to resist.

  Regret flickered across his face. “I promised I wouldn’t if you don’t want me to…”

  His reminder of her moral failure brought on a hot blush.

  “Don’t be scared of what you’re feeling, Pru. It’s natural.”

  “All the sins of the flesh are natural, but that doesn’t make them right.” Kissing him had awakened something wanton inside her. She hadn’t resisted, hadn’t even wanted to resist. “I’m not blaming you. I’m the one who transgressed.”

  “Transgressed?” He blinked as if the meaning was lost on him. He must not have been raised in a devout household, or he would know what that word meant.

  “Women are called to be examples of purity and restraint,” she explained. “Men are supposed to flee from ungodliness, too. But being men, they can be forgiven for their animal passions.”

  “Animal passions?” Arch shook his head with a dry laugh. “You don’t know much about animals if you think that was… Ah, never mind. Enjoying a kiss doesn’t mean you’re impure and unrestrained.”

  She had kissed him with abandon and had her hands all over him… Why, it made her tremble to think about how truly unrestrained she could be.

  “A virtuous woman doesn’t enjoy kissing.” She turned away, blinking back tears of frustration. “It must be my rebellious nature. I’ve always been too spontaneous and given to…to strong passions.”

  Nine years ago, her father had caught her in the barn with her sweetheart the night before he marched off to join his company. They hadn’t done more than share a few innocent hugs and a quick kiss. But since she had wondered if Will’s death was punishment for wanting more. She had vowed never to have immoral thoughts again. Yet, she couldn’t seem to control the urges.

  “There must be something wrong with me,” she bemoaned.

  “Hush, now, there’s not a thing wrong with you…and I don’t reckon God will get mad about a few kisses.” Arch’s hands came to rest on her shoulders. She trembled. Heaven forbid he put his arms around her. “If we was to get married, you wouldn’t have to worry so much about your virtue.”

  * * *

  “You’re incorrigible.” Prudence tore away from his grasp and fled out the open door.

  Arch wasn’t certain what incorrigible meant, but he knew it wasn’t a compliment. He’d kissed her to show her that he valued her and wanted her, so she would feel better about herself. All he’d accomplished was to make her feel worse.

  He followed her outside. Might be she’d run for fear he would give in to his animal passions again. So, she thought of him as a rutting stallion? Granted, laughing hadn’t been the best response, even if her remark had been funny, and sort of a compliment, too, though she hadn’t meant it to be.

  “Pru, wait, you don’t have to run. I won’t kiss you—” No, he couldn’t make a promise he was sure to break. “Without asking permission.”

  She swung around, holding onto the rope handle of an empty bucket. “I won’t give my permission.”

  “Then you got nothin’ to worry about.” He remained a few feet away in case she decided to use the bucket as a weapon. “What do you intend to do with that?”

  “I need water…” She looked away like she was embarrassed. “To bathe.”

  Why on earth would admitting to wanting a bath be shameful? Then again, she’d been taught that anything remotely pleasurable was a sin.

  “You can’t bathe in a bucket. Wash off in the creek.”

  She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Absolutely not. I’m not bathing in the creek. What if your Indian friends are out there?”

  “I’ll stand watch…with my back turned. I swear.”

  “No, thank you. The scriptures tell us to flee from the Devil.” Squaring her shoulders, she started off in the direction of the trees, swinging the bucket by her side.

  First, an animal, now the Devil… He wasn’t making progress in the right direction.

  He caught up with her and grabbed the rope handle. “I’ve got a tub around here somewhere. Let me get it.”

  She hesitated to release the bucket, but the longing in her eyes told him he’d already won this argument. “Well, I suppose I could wait until you find the tub. I’ll fix us something to eat.”

  His stomach did a slow flip. He wasn’t eager to sample another one of her attempts even if he appreciated the effort. “Don’t worry about cooking. There’s cheese in the pantry and a tin of sardines and soda crackers. You can pick lettuce and carrots and whatever else you find in the garden that looks ripe.”

  While she stayed busy, Arch cleaned out a metal tub he’d used in the stables and rolled it over next to the house. After five trips down to the creek with two buckets, he finally filled it deep enough for a bath. On the last trip, he dumped a bucketful of water into a large pot, hung it over the fire pit outside and got a blaze going. While the water heated, he darted into the house and collected sheets off the bed. When she asked what he was doing, he told her to be patient.

  He’d landed on a way to improve her mood and show her he wasn’t so incorrigible.

  Using branches and rope, he created a frame for a screen around the tub so she would have privacy. As he draped the sheets over the branches, Rebel sniffed the fabric. The dog might think they were playing a game.

  “Leave it alone,” he warned. “Unless you want her to lay into you about your animal passions.”

  After he’d poured in the hot water, he invited Pru outside.

  “Your bath is ready, Miss Walker.” He bowed and gestured, showing her he knew something of fine manners.

  Her astonished expression changed to delight when she drew back a sheet and dipped her fingers in the water. “Oh, it’s warm! Arch, thank you!” She whirled around, gave him a quick hug, and then vanished behind the sheet. “This is wonderful. You really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble…”

  “No trouble.” He rolled his aching shoulders. A bath was a simple enough thing, and the effort was worth it to see her so happy. Next time, she might even give him a kiss. After they were married, she could enjoy it, guilt-free.

  The sheet rippled. “I’m not sure where to…”

  “Hand over your clothes.”

  The rustling stopped. She was thinking about it. He wagered that her desire for a bath would win out over her obsessive modesty. After another moment, the sheet moved and she thrust out her dress, followed by petticoats, stockings, and a variety of undergarments. “Please put them inside until I’m finished.”

  After laying out her clothing on the bed, he helped himself to some of the food she’d put out. He could go hunting later. Prairie hens were plentiful, and he could teach Pru how to prepare the birds and roast them. He could teach her other things, as well—pleasure being at the top of the list. Once they were married, she might be more willing to learn. She would take to passion as natural as a duckling went to water.

  By now, she ought to be enjoying her bath and feeling more charitable.

  He dragged a chair outside and sat down.

  Rebel stretched out and put his chin on his paws.

  The sound of humming came from behind the sheet. Splashing. More humming.

  “You enjoying that bath?”

  A gasp was followed by a loud splash. “Arch? I didn’t know you were out there.”

  “Told you I’d keep watch. Rebel might decide to play tug with the sheet.”

  “Oh dear…” The splashing stopped. He really shouldn’t tease her while she was sitting naked in a bathtub.

  “Enjoy your bath, Pru. Nobody will bother you, me included. You have my word.”

  After a moment, she went back to splashing, indicating she both believed him and trusted him enough to be comfortable in a vulnerable situation, another step in the right direction.

  Arch drummed his fingers on his knees. He glanced
at the sheet. When she’d been sick and feverish, he’d bathed her down. The thin shift hadn’t hidden much. He’d glimpsed pink-tipped breasts, the shadow at the juncture of her legs. She had the most tempting body, yet he hadn’t taken advantage of her by gawking…more than necessary.

  He wasn’t an animal and he could control himself.

  The sounds she made as she bathed stirred tantalizing images. If he didn’t find some distraction, pretty soon he’d soon be in a state that wouldn’t be good for either of them—at the present moment.

  He started whistling.

  “Please, no,” she cried. “Don’t you know anything besides Dixie?”

  She’d told him she was from Ohio…a Yankee girl.

  “Bonnie Blue Flag?” He stretched out his legs and grinned, waiting.

  She rewarded him with a groan. “I should’ve known you’d memorize Confederate tunes. You named your dog Rebel.”

  Arch debated how much to tell her about his past association with a lost cause. No point in denying it. Then again, there was no need to hash it over, either, and get sidetracked on a pointless argument about which side was right. “My brother named him. I took him in after he tangled with a bear.”

  “Your brother didn’t want an injured animal, I take it?”

  Obe would’ve shot the dog.

  “He didn’t see much use for a hound that can’t earn its way.”

  “How fortunate for Rebel that you and your brother don’t agree.”

  The hound lifted his head at his name. When Arch reached down, Rebel licked his fingers. Most men would’ve put the animal out of its misery, rather than spending weeks nursing the dog’s grievous injuries. He’d known he was being foolishly sentimental, hadn’t regretted it, though. He refused to regret his decision to hold onto Pru. She wasn’t a three-legged dog, but she needed him…even if she didn’t realize it yet.

  “Guess I’m soft-hearted,” he admitted.

  “That’s not a flaw.”

  “Never said it was, but being seen as soft can be dangerous. That’s why I don’t let too many folks in on my secret.”